The One True Story of William the Bloody
by Philip S
Summary: Spike's back and he's telling it like it is. The true story of the six years of horror, otherwise known as Buffy season 4 through Angel season 5.


The One True Story of William the Bloody

by Philip S.

Summary: What the title says. Spoilers for the whole of BtVS and Angel canons.

Disclaimer: All things Buffy and Angel belong to Joss Whedon, who fouled them up beyond belief and should be ashamed of himself. Oh, and I think Brad got his origins with Mighty Big TV (now called Television Without Pity). Kudos to Strega and the gang.

Rating: PG-13

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Author's Note: As many of you might have noticed I haven't exactly been active in writing lately. That has many reasons, including the fact that I'm no longer single, got more to do at work, and am working hard on my next original novel. It's also due to the fact that I'm rapidly losing interest in this fandom. Buffy is over (not that it was much fun these last four years) and Angel stopped being fun long before they felt the need to introduce Spike into it. So I really saw no further inspiration there.

This little story here might actually be my last Buffy story ever. No guarantees on that, of course, as my muse is a fickle little thing. Still, it's somewhat fitting that it's a Spike story, seeing as all good things in the Buffy universe ended with Spike. And not in a good way, too.

So here goes, my requiem on Spike and (possibly) the whole of the Buffyverse. Enjoy!

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Hi! It's me, Spike!

  
Yeah, I know what you're thinking right now. Please, not this guy again! We've had enough of Spike these last few years. We can't stand Spike. Anything but Spike!

I'm right there with you, wankers!

See, something funny happened to me. And I'm not talking chip-in-your-brain or got-me-a-soul-from-a-demon kind of funny. Whether any of the aforementioned is actually funny is, of course, debatable. I digress, though. We were talking about the funny thing that happened to me.

It started back in 1998, so that was six years ago. Again, I know what you're thinking. 1998? Wasn't that before the whole bloody business with the chip, the soul, the sunshine medallion, and all that other junk? You'd be right there, mate. It was before all that stuff. It's about all that stuff, too.

See, I was in South America, feeling downright miserable. The whole business with Dru, you know? Left me for a Fungus demon and all. Believe me, you don't want to know any details on that one. Anyway, I was really in a foul mood and not even killing people was helping me out of the funk. I was throwing back drinks left and right, both the alcoholic and the body-temperature kind, but it didn't help.

Then I met this fellow called Brad.

Well, ponce didn't call himself Brad when I first met him. He called himself, listen to this, he called himself Lestat. Don't go groaning on me now. No rolling your eyes, either. No, he wasn't the Anne Rice crap come to life. Wasn't the inspiration of the Anne Rice crap, either. Fellow wasn't even a real vampire. He was a moderately talented sorcerer with a major fanboy psychosis and a serious hard-on for all things vampiric. Found some spell to give himself some vampire-like powers and then strutted around like a git, pretending to be Lestat.

Problem was no one bought it. I mean, come on! There are some mighty stupid vampires out there, let me tell you that, but Lestat? Bloody Anne Rice? No chance, mate! So he got his arse kicked a couple of times and finally wised up. Well, not exactly. He only got around to noticing that posing as a literary character wasn't gonna cut it. So instead of really wisening up and quitting the whole business he decided to find himself a real vampire to imitate.

Three guesses whom he found and the first two don't count.

It's really embarrassing, let me tell you that. Bloody wanker caught me at a bad time and before I knew it he cast some kind of spell over me. Apparently he wanted to transfer my memories so he could pull off the thing convincingly for a chance. Something must've gone mighty wrong, though. Turns out he really thought he was me afterwards. Not that I noticed.

Next thing I noticed was waking up in a cave somewhere and the first calendar I got a good look at told me it was 2004.

What? Don't tell me that comes as a shock to you. Please, you really believed that uncle Tom strutting his chipped stuff around Sunnydale was me? God, what kind of stupid wankers are you, anyway? You really think a bloody chip in my skull would make me over into a good guy and make me go looking for a bloody soul? Get yourself a brain first, then we can go talking about souls. Idiots!

Anyway, I only worked out what happened a few weeks ago. How this idiot went around sullying my good name, working with the Slayer and her little troupe, even falling in love with the blonde bimbo. Now don't get me wrong! Buffy, she's a fine piece of arse, no doubt about it. But love? Sacrificing himself for her? Please, I'm a vampire! Maybe a bit more sentimental than most other vampires, but still.

You really never noticed? I mean, come on! He wasn't even really a vampire. Sure, he believed he was, but you must have noticed some things. How about that he went out into the sun a dozen times and only got singed, but never burned? Vamps, we combust in sunlight in a matter of seconds. Pay attention, will ya?

Or that whole soul business! Demons bestowing souls? Yeah, right! African creep saw right through Brad's little charade and reminded him about some things. Not reminding him enough to actually break that little fantasy he had going inside his noggin', but enough to make him realize he had a soul. Always had, of course. Little git was only human, after all. Didn't any of you notice that he aged in the last six years? Good god, people, the guy looked like forty when I met him. I was bloody changed when I wasn't even thirty yet.

Anyway, once I got over the whole losing-six-years-thing and got myself back together I headed back to America. Whatever had happened to me, I was pretty sure either the Slayer or the poof had a hand in it. Yeah, I'm kinda single-minded, so what? At least I never fell in love with Buffy.

So I got to Los Angeles, looking for a brief stopover before heading on to Sunnydale, and what do I learn? The town's gone. And not only that, people are telling that I sacrificed myself to close the Hellmouth. I got very depressed after that and drunk myself into a stupor for several days. Imagine! Not only was my reputation sullied beyond belief, now everyone was thinking that I had closed the greatest single source of evil in the world. I mean, give me a break! A fellow can only take so much abuse.

I got a bit of a pick-me-up a few days later, though. Ran into this brunette girl on the street. Before I could even think about whether or not she'd make a good meal she ran up to me and swept me up in a hug, telling me how glad she was that I was alive. I didn't have a clue who she was. I later found out that she was the Slayer's little sister, or make that imaginary sister. Something about a god, a key, some monks, whatever!

It actually took me five minutes to get over my confusion and kill her. Yes, I killed her. What did you expect? I'm a bloody vampire! I'm evil! I don't have a chip, I don't have a soul, I don't have a hard-on for the friggin' Slayer, so of course I killed this stupid kid that didn't have enough sense to stay away from a vampire in the middle of the night. What part of 'EVIL' don't you understand, you stupid wanker?

I realized that I needed to put a few things straight and do it fast before I lost what little remained of my reputation. I began by visiting a few demon bars, killing people in front of other demons, and generally getting caught up on the scuttlebutt. It's how I learned that my poof of a sire ... no, not Dru, you idiots! What gave you the idea that Dru is my sire? What? Oh, if that idiot wasn't already dead! Not only does he ruin my present-day rep, he goes around telling people that Dru sired me?

To put this straight once and for all! Angelus is my sire. I may not like the poof nowadays, but back in the old days he knew how to be a vampire, all right? He was my fucking idol, all right? Man, we had some times together. Didn't take shit from anybody, least of all his own sire. Probably got that from him, too.

As I was saying earlier, I learned that peaches was now running the local offices of Wolfram & Hart, the evil law firm. Yeah, I'd heard of them before. How did you think I got word out to the order of Taraka that I wanted the Slayer offed? Not like they're in the bloody phone book or anything. So I was thinking, let's look up my old poof of a sire. At the very least I'd get a good brawl out of it and maybe some information on what that idiot Brad had done pretending to be me.

Turns out he had spent some months haunting Angel as some kind of ghost before the poof finally had enough and smashed that stupid medallion to bits, sending Brad's ethereal bits on the afterlife. Boy, Angel was sure surprised to see me. Well, surprised might actually be the wrong word. He rolled his eyes and moaned "Please, lord! Not again!"

We set a few things straight between us, completely wrecking the whole office and maiming three or four of his employees. Well, okay. I did the maiming, but he didn't seem to mind as much as he usually did. Probably figuring that they're all evil anyway. When I'd finally convinced him that I was the real deal and not some nancy-boy with a soul or chip or whatever I got out of there.

Angel is trying to hunt me down and kill me again. Things are getting back to normal bit by bit.

A few days later the Slayer got into town, apparently returning from some kind of European vacation. Turns out she heard about her little imaginary sister biting it and put two and two together once Angel told her about me and that Brad git. She actually slept with that two-bit phoney, can you believe that? I certainly didn't the first time around. Slayer's got a thing for vamps that aren't quite vamps.

We had us a good brawl that left me beaten to a bloody pulp somewhere in the sewer, only just getting away with my unlife intact. Man, good times! Scoobies got into town a bit later and, what do you know? Faster than a friggin' forest fire the word is out that the real Spike deal is on the loose again.

And of course every little demon and vampire's saying that he always knew that Brad was fake. Yeah, right! Ponces! I'd kill the bloody lot of 'em, but that's too much shades of Brad, you know what I mean? No killing demons for me, at least for a good long while.

So that's pretty much the story. There's more, of course. Had me a little row with a few of those new Slayers. Good times, people! Slayers as far as the eye can see. That one called Kennedy was especially sweet. Normally it would've taken me decades to get my record up from a measly two to a manly eight. I gotta remember to write Red a thank you card, preferably with a bit of Kennedy's intestines attached. Heard she was sweet on the little Slayer.

All in all, though, things are back on track. Even thought about tracking Dru down for a minute there, but decided against it. Bloody bint's the past; I'm looking at the future.

And right now, for the first time in years, the future's looking all dark and shiny.

The real Spike is back! Accept no substitutes!

THE END


End file.
